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“I’m clean and I had a vasectomy after…”

After his wife left and stole his child.

That hurt my heart.

“Good, because I hate birth control and was literally thinking about stopping it,” I said. “It makes me gain weight.”

He squeezed my hips. “Get rid of it. Especially if you don’t like it.”

I hummed. “Consider it done.”

He walked away and cleaned up in the bathroom.

When he came back, my lower half was still exposed to the cold air, causing him to chuckle.

A hot, wet rag ran along the seam of my sex, then he dragged me up the length of the bed and covered me with a blanket.

He dropped down on either side of me, hands fisted in the comforter that pressed me down to the mattress tight.

His face was inches from mine when he said, “I’ll let you borrow my truck any time. But not the cruiser, okay?”

I blinked innocently at him. “Whatever are you talking about?”

He tweaked my nose, then pushed himself off the bed.

I watched him leave and wondered if he was coming back again tonight.

The question I needed to ask myself was, did I want him to?

Hours passed as I tried and failed to go back to sleep.

In the end, I decided to get up and do a little research.

On one hand, I knew that I should probably stay the hell out of Black’s business with his ex-wife and his daughter.

On the other hand, I knew a lot of people who were really, really good with computers and getting into places that they weren’t technically supposed to be.

But first, I decided that it would behoove me to get onto social media and do this background digging the old-fashioned way.

There wasn’t a single woman alive who didn’t know how to do a deep dive into social media.

But there were some of us who were fluent in social media sleuthing.

I’d learned my internet stalking ways when I was in high school and found out that I had two options.

Survive or die.

I chose to survive, and to do that, I did it by whatever means necessary.

Four hours later, I’d sent seventeen messages to women who shared Black’s daughter’s name, or her mother’s maiden name. Not a single one had replied by the time I was forced to go to the neighbor meeting at none other than the one place I avoided above all others.

At least this time, my brother didn’t live there.

Milo had done one thing right. He’d kicked Leo to the curb the moment he turned eighteen.

Eighteen

You colossal cunting fucknugget.